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SYWiLLVANX^TER. 





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RILEY FARM-RHYMES 



RILEY 
FARM-RHYMES 

JAMES 
WHITCOMB RILEY 



ILLUSTRATED BY 



WILL VAWTER 



03 



INDIANAPOLIS 

THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



Copyright, 1883, 1887, 1888, 1890, 1891, 1892, 1894, 

1896, 1898, 1899 and 1905 

by 

James Whitcomb Riley 



Copyright 1921 
The Bobbs-Merrill Company 



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Printed in the United States of America 




PRESS OF 

BRAUNWORTH & CO. 

BOOK MANUFACTURERS 

BROOKLYN. N. Y. 



m 151921 



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Inscribed with all Grateful Esteem 

TO 

The Good Old-Fashioned People 



THE deadnin' and the thichefs jes' a-b'ilin' full of 

June, 
From the rattle o^ the cricket, to the yallar-ham- 

mer's tune; 
And the catbird in the bottom and the sap-sucJc on 

the snag, 
Seems ef they can't — od-rot-em! — jest do nothin' 

else but brag! 

They's music in the ttvitter of the bluebird and the 

And that sassy little critter jest a-peckin' all the day; 
They's music in the *' flicker'' and they's music in 

the thrush. 
And they's music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in 

the brush! — 

They's music all around me! — And I go back, in a 

dream 
Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep: — And, 

in the stream 
That ust to split the medder whare the dandylions 

growed, 
I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down 

the road. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

At "The Literary" ........... 86 

Canary at the Farm, A ........ . 68 

Country Pathway, A . . 141 

Dream of Autumn, A . . 47 

Fessler's Bees 22 

Griggsby's Station ........... 78 

How John Quit the Farm 118 

Knee-Deep in June 101 

"Mylo Jones»s Wife" 50 

Old-Fashioned Roses 114 

Old October 110 

Old Winters on the Farm 109 

Orchard Lands of Long Ago, The 56 

Romancin' 158 

Squire Hawkins's Story 173 

Tale of the Airly Days, A 152 

Thoughts fer the Discuraged Farmer .... 41 

"Tradin' Joe" 60 

Tree-Toad, The 137 

Uncle Dan'l in Town over Sunday 71 

Up and Down Old Brandywine 165 

Us Farmers in the Country ....... 84 

Voice from the Farm, A 157 

Wet-Weather Talk . 38 

What Smith Knew about Farming ..... 92 

When Early March Seems Middle May .... 149 

When the Frost Is on the Punkin ..... 17 

When the Green Gits Back in the Trees ... 34 

Where the Children Used to Play 74 

Wortermelon Time 130 



.^t-^ 



J 






RILEY FARM-RHYMES 



4^^. 





WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN 



w 



HEN the frost is on the punkin and the 

fodder's in the shock, 
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' 

turkey-cock, 
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of 

the hens, 
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the 

fence ; 
O, it's then's the times a feller is a-f eelin' at his best. 
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of 

peaceful rest. 
As he leaves the house, bare-headed, and goes out to 

feed the stock. 
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in 

the shock. 

17 



WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN 

They's something kindo' harty-like about the 

atmusfere 
When the heat of summer^s over and the coohn' fall 

is here — 
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on 

the trees, 
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of 

the bees; 
But the air's so appetizin' ; and the landscape through 

the haze 
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn 

days 
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock — 
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in 

the shock. 

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the com. 
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as 

the morn ; 
The stubble in the furries — kindo' lonesome-like, but 

still 
A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed 

to fill; 



18 



WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN 

The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the 
shed ; 

The hosses in theyr stalls below — the clover over- 
head ! — 

O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock, 

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in 
the shock! 

Then your apples all is getherd, and the ones a feller 

keeps 
Is poured around the cellar-floor in red and yeller 

heaps ; 
And your cider-makin' 's over, and your wimmern- 

folks is through 
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse 

and saussage, too ! . . . 
I don't know how to tell it — ^but ef sich a thing could 

be 
As the Angels wantin' boarding and they'd call 

around on me — 
I'd want to 'commodate 'em — all the whole-indurin' 

flock- 
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in 

the shock! 

21 




(^(irp 



FESSLER'S BEES 

ALKIN' 'bout yer bees," says Ike, 
Speakin' slow and ser'ous-like, 
"D' ever tell you 'bout old 'Bee'— 
Old 'Bee' Fessler?" Ike says-he! 
"Might call him a bee-expert, 
When it come to handlin' bees, — 
Roll the sleeves up of his shirt 
And wade in amongst the trees 
Where a swarm 'u'd settle, and — 
Blam'dest man on top of dirt ! — • 
Rake 'em with his naked hand 
Right back in the hive ag'in, 
Jes' as easy as you please! 
Nary bee 'at split the breeze 
Ever jabbed a stinger in 
22 



FESSLEE'S BEES 

Old 'Bee' Fessler — jes' in fun, 
Er in airnest — nary one! — 
Couldn't agg one on to, nuther, 
Ary one way er the other! 

"Old 'Bee' Fessler," Ike says-he, 

''Made a speshyality 

Jes' o' bees ; and built a shed — 

Len'th about a half a mild! 

Had about a thousan' head 

0' hives, I reckon — tame and wild ! 

Dumdest buzzin' ever wuz — 

Wuss'n telegraph-poles does 

When they're sockin' home the news 

Tight as they kin let 'er loose ! 

Visitors rag out and come 

Clean from town to hear 'em hum, 

And stop at the kivered bridge; 

But wuz some 'u'd cross the ridge 

Alius, and go clos'ter — so 's 

They could see 'em hum, I s'pose ! 

'Peared-like strangers down that track 

Alius met folks comin' back 

Lookin' extry fat and hearty 

Fer a city picnic party ! 

23 



FESSLER'S BEES 

** Tore he went to Floridy, 
Old *Bee' Fessler," Ike says-he— 
''Old 'Bee' Fessler couldn't bide 
Childern on his place," says Ike. 
"Yit, fer all, they'd climb inside 
And tromp round there, keerless-like. 
In their bare feet. 'Bee' could tell 
Ev'ry town-boy by his yell — 
So 's 'at when they bounced the fence, 
Didn't make no difference! 
He'd jes' git down on one knee 
In the grass and pat the bee! — 
And, ef 't 'adn't stayed stuck in, 
Fess' 'u'd set the sting ag'in, 
'N' potter off, and wait around 
Fer the old famillyer sound. 
Alius boys there, more or less, 
Scootin' round the premises ! 
When the buckwheat wuz in bloom, 
Lawzy! how them bees 'u'd boom 
Round the boys 'at crossed that way 
Fer the crick on Saturday ! 
Never seemed to me su'prisin' 
'At the sting o' bees 'uz p'izin! 

24 



FESSLER'S BEES 

" Tore he went to Floridy," 

Ike says, "nothin' 'bout a bee 

'At old Fessler didn't know, — 

W'y, it jes' 'peared-like 'at he 

Knowed their language, high and low : 

Claimed he told jes' by their buzz 

What their wants and wishes wuz! 

Peek in them-air little holes 

Round the porches o' the hive — 

Drat their pesky little souls! — 

Could 'a' skinned the man alive! 

Bore right in there with his thumb. 

And squat down and scrape the gum 

Outen ev'ry hole, and blow 

'N' bresh the crumbs off, don't you know! 

Take the roof off, and slide back 

Them-air glass concerns they pack 

Full o' honey, and jes' lean 

'N' grabble 'mongst 'em fer the queen! 

Fetch her out and show you to her — 

Jes', you might say y interview her! 

"Year er two," says Ike, says-he, 
" 'Fore he went to Floridy, 
25 



FESSLER'S BEES 

Fessler struck the theory, 
Honey was the same as love — 
You could make it day and night: 
Said them bees o' his could be 
Got jes' twic't the work out of 
Ef a feller managed right. 
He contended ef bees found 
Blossoms all the year around, • 
He could git 'em down at once 
To work all the winter months 
Same as summer. So, one fall. 
When their summer's work wuz done, 
'Bee' turns in and robs 'em all; 
Loads the hives then, one by one. 
On the cyars, and 'lowed he'd see 
Ef bees loafed in Floridy! 
Said he bet he'd know the reason 
Ef Ms didn't work that season! 

"And," says Ike, "it's jes'," says-he, 
"Like old Fessler says to me: 
'Any man kin fool a bee, 
Git him down in Floridy!* 
'Feared at fust, as ole 'Bee' said, 
Fer to kind o' turn their head 
26 



FESSLER'S BEES 

Fer a spell; but, bless you! they 
Didn't lose a half a day 
Altogether! — Jes' lit in 
Them-air tropics, and them-air 
Cacktusses a-ripen-nin', 
'N' magnolyers, and sweet peas, 
'N' 'simmon and pineapple trees, 
'N' ripe bananers, here and there, 
'N' dates a-danglin' in the breeze, 
'N' figs and reezins everywhere. 
All waitin' jes' fer Fessler's bees! 
'N' Fessler's bees, with gaumy wings, 
A-gittin' down and ivhoopin^ things !- 
Fessler kind o' overseein' 
'Em, and sort o' 'hee-o-heein'!^ 

" 'Fore he went to Floridy, 
Old 'Bee' Fessler," Ike says-he, 
"Wuzn't counted, jes' to say, 
Mean er or'n'ry anyway; 
On'y' ev'ry 'tarnel dime 
'At 'u'd pass him on the road 
He'd ketch up with, ev'ry time; 
And no mortal ever knowed 

29 



FESSLER'S BEES 

Him to spend a copper cent — 
'Less on some fool- speriment 
With them bees — like that-un he 
Played on 'em in Floridy. 
Fess', of course, he tuck his ease, 
But 'twus bilious on the bees ! 
Sweat, you know, 'u'd jes' stand out 
On their forreds — pant and groan, 
And grunt round and limp about ! — 
And old 'Bee,' o' course, a-knowin' 
'Twuzn't no fair shake to play 
On them pore dumb insecks, ner 
To abuse 'em thataway. 
Bees has rights, I'm here to say. 
And that's all they ast him fer! 
Man as mean as thaty jes' 'pears, 
Could 'a' worked bees on the sheers! 
Cleared big money — well, I guess, 
*Bee' shipped honey, more er less. 
Into ev'ry state, perhaps, 
Ever putt down in the maps ! 

"But by time he fetched 'em back 
In the Spring ag'in," says Ike, 

30 



FESSLER'S BEES 

"They wuz actin' s'picious-like : 
Though they 'peared to lost the track 
O' everything they saw er heard, 
They'd lay round the porch, and gap' 
At their shadders in the sun, 
Do-less like, ontel some bird 
Suddently 'u'd maybe drap 
In a bloomin' churry tree, 
Twitterin' a tune 'at run 
In their minds familiously! 
They'd revive up, kind o', then. 
Like they argied: 'Well, it's be'n 
The most longest summer we 
Ever saw er want to see! 
Must be right, though, er old "Bee'' 
'U'd notify us!' they says-ee; 
And they'd sort o' square their chin 
And git down to work ag'in — 
Moanin' round their honey-makin'. 
Kind o' like their head was achin', 
Tetchin' fer to see how they 
Trusted Fessler that away — 
Him a-lazin' round, and smirkin' 
To hisse'f to see 'em workin'! 

31 



FESSLER'S BEES 

"But old *Bee/ " says Ike, says-he, — 
"Now where is he? Where's he gone? 
Where's the head he helt so free? 
Where's his pride and vanity? 
What's his hopes a-restin' on? — 
Never knowed a man," says Ike, 
"Take advantage of a bee, 
'At affliction didn't strike 
Round in that vicinity! 
Sinners alkis suffers some. 
And old Fessler's reck'nin' come! 
That-air man to-day is jes' 
Like the grass 'at Scriptur' says 
Cometh up, and then turns in 
And jes' gits cut down ag'in! 

"Old 'Bee' Fessler," Ike says-he, 
"Says, last fall, says he to me — 
*Ike,' says he, 'them bees has jes' 
Ciphered out my or'n'riness! 
Nary bee in ary swarm 
On the whole endurin' farm 
Won't have nothin' more to do 
With a man as mean as I've 

32 



FESSLER'S BEES 

Be'n to them, last year er two ! 
Nary bee in ary hive 
But'll turn his face away, 
Like they ort, whenever they 
Hear my footprints drawin' nigh!' 
And old 'Bee,' he'd sort o' shy 
Round oneasy in his cheer. 
Wipe his eyes, and yit the sap. 
Spite o' all, 'u'd haf to drap. 
As he wound up: Wouldn't keer 
Quite so much ef they'd jes' light 
In and settle things up right. 
Like they ort ; but — blame the thing !- 
'Pears-like they won't even sting! 
Pepper me, the way I felt, 
And I'd thank 'em, ev'ry welt!' 
And as miz'able and mean 
As 'Bee' looked, ef you'd 'a' seen 
Them-air hungry eyes," says Ike, 
"You'd fergive him, more'n like. 

"Wisht you had 'a' knowed old *Bee' 
'Fore he went to Floridy!" 




WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN 
THE TREES 

IN Spring, when the green gits back in the trees, 
And the sun comes out and stays, 
And yer boots pulls on with a good tight squeeze, 

And you think of yer bare-foot days; 
When you ort to work and you want to not, 

And you and yer wife agrees 
It's time to spade up the garden-lot. 

When the green gits back in the trees — 
Well ! work is the least o* my idees 
When the green, you know, gits back in the 
trees ! 

34 



WHEN THE GEEEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES 

When the green gits back in the trees, and bees 

Is a-buzzin^ aroun' ag'in 
In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please 

Old gait they bum roun' in; 
When the grounds all bald whare the hay-rick 
stood, 
And the crick's riz, and the breeze 
Coaxes the bloom in the old dogwood, 
And the green gits back in the trees, — 
I like, as I say, in sich scenes as these, 
The time when the green gits back in the trees ! 

When the whole tail-feathers o' Wintertime 

Is all pulled out and gone! 
And the sap it thaws and begins to climb, 

And the swet it starts out on 
A feller's forred, a-gittin' down 

At the old spring on his knees^ — 
I kindo' like jest a-loaferin' roun' 

When the green gits back in the trees — 
Jest a-potterin' roun' as I — dum — please — 
When the green, you know, gits back in the 
trees ! 



37 




WET-WEATHER TALK 

IT hain't no use to grumble and complane ; 
It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice. — 
When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, 
W'y, rain's my choice. 

Men ginerly, to all intents — 

Although they're apt to grumble some — 
Puts most theyr trust in Providence, 
And takes things as they come — 
That is, the commonality 
Of men that's lived as long as me 
Has watched the world enugh to learn 
They're not the boss of this concern. 
38 



WET-WEATHER TALK 

With some, of course, it's different — 

I've saw young men that knowed it all, 
And didn't like the way things went 
On this terrestchul ball; — 

But all the same, the rain, some way, 
Rained jest as hard on picnic day; 
Er, when they railly wanted it, 
It mayby wouldn't rain a bit ! 

In this existunce, dry and wet 

Will overtake the best of men — 
Some little skift o' clouds'll shet 
The sun off now and then. — 

And mayby, whilse you're wundern who 
You've fool-like lent your umbrell' to, 
And want it — out'll pop the sun. 
And you'll be g-lad you hain't got none! 

It aggervates the farmers, too — 

They's too much wet, er too much sun, 
Er work, er waitin' round to do 
Before the plowin' 's done: 

And mayby, like as not, the wheat. 
Jest as it's lookin' hard to beat, 

39 



WET-WEATHER TALK 

Will ketch the storm — and jest about 
The time the corn's a-jintin' out. 

These-here cy-clones a-foolin' round — 

And back'ard crops! — and wind and rain! — 
And yit the corn that's wallerd down 
May elbow up again ! — 

They hain't no sense, as I can see, 
Fer mortuls, sich as us, to be 
A-faultin' Natchur's wise intents, 
And iockin' horns with Providence! 

It hain't no use to grumble and complane ; 

It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice. — 
When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, 

W'y, rain's my choice. 



jPiP^ 




THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED 
FARMER 

THE summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin' 
locus' trees ; 
And the clover in the pastur' is a big day f er the bees, 
And they been a-swiggin' honey, above board and on 

the sly, 
Tel they stutter in theyr buzzin' and stagger as they 

fly. 

The flicker on the fence-rail 'pears to jest spit on his 

wings 
And roll up his feathers, by the sassy way he sings ; 
And the hoss-fly is a-whettin'-up his forelegs f er biz, 
And the off -mare is a-switchin' all of her tale they is. 

41 



THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER 

You can hear the blackbirds jawin' as they f oiler up 

the plow — 
Oh, theyr bound to git theyr brekf ast, and theyr not 

a-carin' how; 
So they quarrel in the furries, and they quarrel on 

the wing — 
But theyr peaceabler in pot-pies than any other 

thing : 
And it's when I git my shotgun drawed up in stiddy 

rest, 
She's as full of tribbelation as a yeller- jacket's nest; 
And a few shots before dinner, when the sun's a- 

shinin' right, 
Seems to kindo'-sorto' sharpen up a feller's appetite I 

They's been a heap o' rain, but the sun's out to-day, 
And the clouds of the wet spell is all cleared away. 
And the woods is all the greener, and the grass is 

greener still ; 
It may rain again to-morry, but I don't think it will. 
Some says the crops is ruined, and the corn's 

drownded out. 
And propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, without 

doubt ; 

42 



THOUGHTS FER THE DISCUEAGED FARMER 
But the kind Providence that has never failed us 

yet, 

Will be on hands onc't more at the 'leventh hour, 
I bet! 

Does the medder-lark complane, as he swims high 

and dry 
Through the waves of the wind and the blue of the 

sky? 
Does the quail set up and whissel in a disappinted 

way, 
Er hang his head in silunce, and sorrow all the day ? 
Is the chipmuck's health a-failin'? — Does he walk, 

er does he run? 
Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare just like 

they've alius done? 
Is they anything the matter with the rooster's lungs 

er voice? 
Ort a mortui be complainin' when dumb animals 

rejoice? 

Then let us, one and all, be contentud with our lot ; 
The June is here this morning, and the sun is shining 
hot. 

45 



THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER 

Oh ! let us fill our harts up with the glory of the day, 
And banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow fur 

away ! 
Whatever be our station, with Providence fer guide, 
Sich fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied; 
Fer the world is full of roses, and the roses full of 

dew, 
And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips fer 

me and you. 



Ai^4^ 





A DREAM OF AUTUMN 

MELLOW hazes, lowly trailing 
Over wood and meadow, veiling 
Somber skies, with wild fowl sailing 
Sailor-like to foreign lands ; 
And the north wind overleaping 
Summer's brink, and flood-like sweeping 
Wrecks of roses where the weeping- 
Willows wring their helpless hands. 

47 



A DREAM OF AUTUMN 

Flared, like Titan torches flinging 
Flakes of flame and embers, springing 
From the vale, the trees stand swinging 

In the moaning atmosphere; 
While in dead'ning lands the lowing 
Of the cattle, sadder growing, 
Fills the sense to overflowing 

With the sorrow of the year. 

Sorrowfully, yet the sweeter 
Sings the brook in rippled meter 
Under boughs that lithely teeter 

Lorn birds, answering from the shores 
Through the viny, shady-shiny 
Interspaces, shot with tiny 
Flying motes that fleck the winy 

Wave-engraven sycamores. 

Fields of ragged stubble, wrangled 
With rank weeds, and shocks of tangled 
Corn, with crests like rent plumes dangled 
Over Harvest's battle-plain ; 



48 



A DREAM OF AUTUMN 

And the sudden whir and whistle 
Of the quail that, like a missile, 
Whizzes over thorn and thistle, 

And, a missile, drops again. 

Muffled voices, hid in thickets 
Where the redbird stops to stick its 
Ruddy beak betwixt the pickets 

Of the truant's rustic trap; 
And the sound of laughter ringing 
Where, within the wild vine swinging. 
Climb Bacchante's schoolmates, flinging 

Purple clusters in her lap. 

Rich as wine, the sunset flashes 
Round the tilted world, and dashes 
Up the sloping West, and splashes 

Red foam over sky and sea — 
Till my dream of Autumn, paling 
In the splendor all-prevailing, 
Like a sallow leaf goes sailing 

Down the silence solemnly. 



49 




" MYLO JONES'S WIFE '' 

ait /TYLO JONES'S wife" was all 
ifX I heerd, mighty near, last Fall — ^ 
Visitun relations down 
T'other side of Morgan town! 
Mylo Jones's wife she does 
This and that, and "those" and "thus"!- 
Can't 'bide babies in her sight — 
Ner no childern, day and night, 
Whoopin' round the premises — 
Ner no nothin' else, I guess ! 
50 



"MYLO JONES'S WIFE" 

Mylo Jones's wife she 'lows 

She's the boss of her own house ! — 

Mylo — consequences is — 

Stays whare things seem some like his, — 

Uses, mostly, with the stock — 

Coaxin' ''Old Kate" not to balk, 

Ner kick hoss-flies' branes out, ner 

Act, I s'pose, so much like her! 

Yit the wimmern-folks tells you 

She's perfection. — Yes they do ! 

Mylo's wife she says she's found 

Home hain't home with men-folks round 

When they's work like hern to do — 

Picklin' pears and butchern, too, 

And a-rendern lard, and then 

Cookin' f er a pack of men 

To come trackin' up the flore 

She's scrubbed tel she'll scrub no more! — 

Yit she'd keep things clean ef they 

Made her scrub tel Judgmunt Day ! 

Mylo Jones's wife she sews 
Carpet-rags and patches clothes 

53 



"MYLO JONES'S WIFE" 

Jest year in and out! — and yit 

Whare's the livin' use of it ? 

She asts Mylo that. — And he 

Gits back whare he'd ruther be. 

With his team; — ^jest plows — and don't 

Never sware — hke some folks won't! 

Think ef he'd cut loose, I gum! 

'D he'p his heavenly chances some! 

Mylo's wife don't see no use, 
Ner no reason ner excuse 
Fer his pore relations to 
Hang- round like they alius do ! 
Thare 'bout onc't a year — and she — 
She jest ga'nts 'em, folks tells me, 
On spiced pears! — Pass Mylo one. 
He says ''No, he don't chuse none!" 
Workin'men like Mylo they 
'D ort to have meat ev'ry day ! 

Dad-burn Mylo Jones's wife! 
Ruther rake a blame caseknife 
'Crost my wizzen than to see 
Sich a womern rulin' me! — 
54 



"MYLO JONES'S WIFE" 

Ruther take and turn in and 
Raise a fool mule-colt by hand! 
Mylo, though — od-rot the man! — 
Jest keeps ca'm — like some folks can- 
And 'lows sich as her, I s'pose, 
Is Man's helpmeet! — ^Mercy knows ! 





THE ORCHARD LANDS OF LONG AGO 

THE orchard lands of Long Ago! 
drowsy winds, awake, and blow 
The snowy blossoms back to me, 
And all the buds. that used to be! 
Blow back along the grassy ways 
Of truant feet, and lift the haze 
Of happy summer from the trees 
That trail their tresses in the seas 
Of grain that float and overflow 
The orchard lands of Long Ago! 
56 



THE OECHARD LANDS OF LONG AGO 

Blow back the melody that slips 

In lazy laughter from the lips 

That marvel much if any kiss 

Is sweeter than the apple's is. 

Blow back the twitter of the birds — 

The lisp, the titter, and the words 

Of merriment that found the shine 

Of summer-time a glorious wine 

That drenched the leaves that loved it so, 

In orchard lands of Long Ago I 

memory! alight and sing 
Where rosy-bellied pippins cling, 
And golden russets glint and gleam, 
As, in the old Arabian dream, 
The fruits of that enchanted tree 
The glad Aladdin robbed for me! 
And, drowsy v/inds, awake and fan 
My blood as when it overran 
A heart ripe as the apples grow 
In orchard lands of Long Ago! 



"TRADIN' JOE^' 

I'M one o' these cur'ous kind o' chaps 
You think you know when you don't, perhaps! 
I hain't no fool — ner I don't p'tend 
To be so smart I could rickommend 
Myself fer a conger ssman, my friend! — 
But I'm kind o' betwixt-and-between, you know, — 
One o' these fellers 'at folks call "slow." 
And I'll say jest here I'm kind o' queer 
Regardin' things 'at I see and hear, — 
Fer I'm thick o' hearin* sometimes, and 
It's hard to git me to understand; 
But other times it hain't, you bet! 
Fer I don't sleep with both eyes shet! 

I've swapped a power in stock, and so 
The neighbers calls me "Tradin' Joe" — 
And I'm goin' to tell you 'bout a trade, — 
And one o' the best I ever made: 

60 



"TRADIN' JOE" 

Folks has gone so fur's to say 

'At I'm well fixed, in a worldly way, 

And hein' so, and a widower, 

It's not su'prisin', as you'll infer, 

I'm purty handy among the sect — 

Widders, especially, rickollect! 

And I won't deny that along o' late 

I've hankered a heap fer the married state — 

But some way o' 'nother the longer we wait 

The harder it is to discover a mate. 

Marshall Thomas, — a friend o' mine, 
Doin' some in the tradin' line. 
But a'most too young to know it all — 
On'y at picnics er some hall! — 
Says to me, in a banterin' way. 
As we was a-loadin' stock one day,^ 
"You're a-huntin' a wife, and I want you to see 
My girl's mother, at Kankakee! — 
She hain't over fortj^ — good-lookin' and spry. 
And jest the woman to fill your eye! 
And I'm a-goin' there Sund'y, — and now," says he, 
"I want to take you along with me; 
And you marry her, and," he says, "by 'shaw ! 
You'll hev me fer yer son-in-law!" 

61 



"TRADIN' JOE" 

I studied a while, and says I, "Well, I'll 

First have to see ef she suits my style; 

And ef she does, you kin bet your life 

Your mother-in-law will be my wife !'* 

Well, Sunday come; and I fixed up some — 

Putt on a collar — I did, by gum! — 

Got down my "plug," and my satin vest — 

(You wouldn't know me to see me dressed! — 

But any one knows ef you got the clothes 

You kin go in the crowd wher' the best of 'em goes !) 

And I greeced my boots, and combed my hair 

Keerfully over the bald place there; 

And Marshall Thomas and me that day^ 

Eat our dinners with Widder Gray 

And her girl Han'! ... 

Well, jest a glance 
0' the widder's smilin' countenance, 
A-cuttin' up chicken and big pot-pies. 
Would make a man hungry in Paradise! 
And passin* p'serves and jelly and cake 
'At would make an angers appetite ache! — 
Pourin' out coffee as yaller as gold — 
Twic't as much as the cup could hold — 

62 



"TRADIN' JOE" 

La! it was rich! — And then she'd say, 
"Take some o' this!" in her coaxin' way, 
Tell ef rd been a hoss I'd 'a' foundered, shore, 
And jest dropped dead on her white-oak floor! 
Well, the way I talked would 'a' done you good, 
Ef you'd been there to 'a' understood ; 
Tel I noticed Hanner and Marshall, they 
Was a-noticin' me in a cur'ous way; 
So I says to myse'f, says I, "Now, Joe, 
The best thing fer you is to jest go slow!" 
And I simmered down, and let them do 
The bulk o' the talkin' the evening through. 
And Marshall was still in a talkative gait 
When he left, that evening — tolable late. 
"How do you like her?" he says to me; 
Says I, "She suits, to a 'i-y-TeeT 
And then I ast how matters stood 
With him in the opposite neighberhood ? 
"Bully !" he says ; "I ruther guess 
I'll finally git her to say the *yes/ 
I named it to her to-night, and she 
Kind o' smiled, and said 'she'd see' — 
And that's a purty good sign!" says he: 
"Yes," says I, "you're ahead o' me/" 

65 



"TRADIN' JOE" 

And then he laughed, and said, "Go in!" 

And patted me on the shoulder ag'in. 

Well, ever sense then I've been ridin' a good 

Deal through the Kankakee neighberhood ; 

And I make it convenient sometimes to stop 

And hitch a few minutes, and kind o' drop 

In at the widder's, and talk o' the crop 

And one thing o' 'nother. And week afore last 

The notion struck me, as I drove past, 

I'd stop at the place and state my case — ^ 

Might as well do it at first as last! 

I felt first-rate; so I hitched at the gate, 

And went up to the house ; and, strange to relate, 

Marshall Thomas had dropped in, too. — 

''Glad to see you, sir, how do you do?" 

He says, says he ! Well — it sounded queer; 

And when Han' told me to take a cheer, 

Marshall got up and putt out o' the room — 

And motioned his hand fer the widder to come. 

I didn't say nothin' fer quite a spell. 

But thinks I to myse'f, "There's a dog in the well !" 

And Han' she smiled so cur'ous at me- 

Says I, "What's up?" And she says, says she, 

66 



^'TKADIN' JOE" 

"Marshall's been at me to marry ag'in, 

And I told him 'no/ jest as you come in." 

Well, somepin' o' 'nother in that girl's voice 

Says to me, "Joseph, here's your choice!" 

And another minute her guileless breast 

Was lovin'ly throbbin' ag'in' my vest! — 

And then I kissed her, and heerd a smack 

Come like a' echo a-flutterin' back, 

And we looked around, and in full view 

Marshall was kissin' the widder, too! 

Well, we all of us laughed, in our glad surprise, 

Tel the tears come a-streamin' out of our eyes ! 

And when Marsh said " 'Twas the squarest trade 

That ever me and him had made," 

We both shuck hands, 'y jucks! and swore 

We'd stick together ferevermore. 

And old Squire Chipman tuck us the trip: 

And Marshall and me's in pardnership! 




A CANARY AT THE FARM 

FOLKS has be'n to town, and Sahry 
Fetched 'er home a pet canary, — 
And of all the blame', contrary, 

Agg-ervatin' things alive! 
I love music — that's I love it 
When it's free — and plenty of it; — 
But I kindo' git above it, 
At a dollar-eighty-five! 

Reason's plain as I'm a-sayin', — 
Jes' the idy, now, o' layin' 
Out yer money, and a-payin' 

Fer a wilier-cage and bird. 
When the medder-larks is wingin' 
Round you, and the woods is ringin' 
With the beautifullest singin' 

That a mortal ever heard ! 

Sahry's sot, tho'. — So I tell her 

He's a purty little feller. 

With his wings o' creamy-yeller. 

And his eyes keen as a cat ; 
And the twitter o' the critter 
'Pears to absolutely glitter! 
Guess I'll haf to go and git her 

A high-priceter cage 'n that! 
68 




UNCLE DAN'L IN TOWN OVER SUNDAY 

1 CAN'T git used to city ways — ■ 
Ner never could, I' bet my hat ! 
Jevver know jes' whur I was raised? — 
Raised on a farm ! D' ever tell you that? 
Was undoubtatly, I declare! 
And now, on Sunday — ^fun to spare 
Around a farm! Why, jes' to set 
Up on the top three-cornered rail 
Of Pap's ole place, nigh La Fayette, 
I'd swap my soul off, hide and tail ! 
71 



UNCLE DAN'L IN TOWN OVER SUNDAY 

You fellers in the city here, 
You don't know nothin' ! — S'pose to-day, 
This clatterin' Sunday, you waked up 
Without no jinglin'-janglin' bells, 
Ner rattlin' of the milkman's cup, 
Ner any swarm of screechin' birds 
Like these here English swallers — S'pose 
Ut you could miss all noise like those. 
And git shet o' thinkin' of 'em afterwerds. 
And then, in the country, wake and hear 
Nothin' but silence — wake and see 
Nothin' but green woods fur and near? — 
What sort o' Sunday would that be? . . . 
Wisht I hed you home with me! 

Now think ! The laziest of all days — 
To git up any time — er sleep — 
Er jes' lay round and watch the haze 
A-dancin' 'crost the wheat, and keep 
My pipe a-goern laisurely. 
And puff and whiff as pleases me — 
And ef I leave a trail of smoke 
Clean through the house, no one to say, 
"Wah ! throw that nasty thing away ; 
Hev some regyard fer decency!" 
72 



UNCLE DAN'L IN TOWN OVER SUNDAY 

To walk round barefoot, if you choose; 
Er saw the fiddle — er dig some bait 
And go a-fishin' — er pitch hoss shoes 
Out in the shade somewhurs, and wait 
For dinner-time, with an appetite 
Ut folks in town cain't equal quite ! 
To laze around the bam and poke 
Fer hens' nests — er git up a match 
Betv/ixt the boys, and watch 'em scratch 
And rassle round, and sweat and swear 
And quarrel to their hearts' content; 
And me a-jes' a-settin' there 
A-hatchin' out more devilment! 
What sort o' Sunday would that be? . , . 
Wisht I hed you home with me ! 





WHERE THE CHILDREN USED TO PLAY 

THE old farm-home is Mother's yet and mine, 
And filled it is with plenty and to spare, — 
But we are lonely here in life's decline, 

Though fortune smiles around us everywhere: 
We look across the gold 
Of the harvests, as of old — 
The com, the fragrant clover, and the hay: 
But most we turn our gaze. 
As with eyes of other days. 
To the orchard where the children used to play. 

74 



WHERE THE CHILDREN USED TO PLAY 

from our life's full measure 
And rich hoard of worldy treasure 

We often turn our weary eyes away, 
And hand in hand tve wander 
Down the old path winding yonder 

To the orchard where the children used to play. 

Our sloping- pasture-lands are filled with herbs; 

The barn and granary-bins are bulging o'er: 
The grove's a paradise of singing birds — 

The woodland brook leaps laughing by the door; 

Yet lonely, lonely still, 

Let us prosper as we will, 
Our old hearts seem so empty everyway — 

We can only through a mist 

See the faces we have kissed 
In the orchard where the children used to play. 

O from our life's full measure 
And rich hoard of worldly treasure 

We often turn our tveary eyes away, 
And hand in hand we wander 
Dotvn the old path winding yonder 

To the orchard where the children used to play. 
77 




GRIGGSBY'S STATION 

PAP'S got his pattent-right, and rich as all 
creation ; 
But Where's the peace and comfort that we all 
had before? 
Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — 
Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! 

The likes of us a-livin' here! It's jest a mortal pity 

To see us in this great big house, with cyarpets on 

the stairs, 

And the pump right in the kitchen! And the city! 

city! city! — 

And nothin' but the city all around us ever'wheres ! 

78 



GRIGGSBY'S STATION 

Climb clean above the roof and look from the steeple, 

And never see a robin, nor a beech or ellum tree ! 

And rig-ht here in ear-shot of at least a thousan' 

people. 

And none that neighbors with us or we want to go 

and see! 

Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby^s Station — 
Back where the latch-string's a-hangin' from the 
door. 
And ever' neighbor round the place is dear as a 
relation — 
Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! 

I want to see the Wiggenses, the whole kit-and-bilin', 
A-drivin' up from Shallor Ford to stay the Sunday 
through ; 
And I want to see 'em hitchin' at their son-in-iaw's 
and pilin' 
Out there at 'Lizy Ellen's like they ust to do! 

I want to see the piece-quilts the Jones girls is 
makin' ; 
And I want to pester Laury 'bout their freckled 
hired hand, 

79 



GRIGGSBY'S STATION 

And joke her 'bout the widower she come purt' nigh 
a-takin', 
Till her Pap got his pension 'lowed in time to save 
his land. 

Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — 
Back where they's nothin' aggervatin' any more, 

Shet away safe in the woods around the old 
location — 
Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! 

I want to see Marindy and he'p her with her sewin'. 
And hear her talk so lovin' of her man that's dead 
and gone, 
And stand up with Emanuel to show me how he's 
growin', 
And smile as I have saw her 'fore she putt her 
.mournin' on. 

And I want to see the Samples, on the old low^er 
eighty, 
When John, our oldest boy, he was tuk and 
burried^ — for 
His own sake and Katy's, — and I want to cry with 
Katy 
As she reads all his letters over, writ from The 
War. 

80 



GEIGGSBY'S STATION 

What's in all this grand life and high situation, 
And nary pink nor hollyhawk a-bloomin' at the 
door ? — 

Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — 
Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! 





^^^ 



us FARMERS IN THE COUNTRY 

US farmers in the country, as the seasons go and 
come, 
Is purty much like other folks,— we're apt to grumble 

some! 
The Spring's too backward fer us, er to forward — ary 

one — 
We'll jaw about it anyhow, and have our way er 

none ! 
The thaw's set in too suddent; er frost's stayed in 

the soil 
Too long to give the wheat a chance, and crops is 

bound to spoil ! 
The weather's eether most too mild, er too outrage- 
ous rough, 
And altogether too much rain, er not half rain 

enugh ! 

84 



us FARMERS IN THE COUNTRY 

Now what rd like and what you'd like is plane enugh 

to see: 
It's jest to have old Providence drop round on you 

and me 
And ast us what our views is first, regardin' shine 

er rain, 
And post 'em when to shet her off, er let her on 

again I 
And yit I'd ruther, after all — consider'n' other chores 
I' got on hands, , a-tendin' both to my aff ares and 

yours — 
I'd ruther miss the blame I'd git, a-rulin' things up 

thare, 
And spend my extry time in praise and gratitude 

and prayer. 



AT " THE LITERARY '' 

FOLKS in town, I reckon, thinks 
They git all the fun they air 
Runnin' loose 'round! — but, 'y jinks! 
We' got fun, and fun to spare. 
Right out here amongst the ash 
And oak timber ever' where ! 
Some folks else kin cut a dash 
'Sides town-people, don't fergit! — 
'Specially in winter-time, 
When they's snow, and roads is fit. 
In them circumstances I'm 
Resig-nated to my lot — 
Which putts me in mind o' what 
'S called "The Literary." . 

Us folks in the country sees 
Lots o' fun! — Take spellin'-school ; 
Er ole hoe-down jamborees; 
Er revivals; er ef you'll 
Tackle taffy-pullin's you 
Kin git fun, and quite a few! — 
Same with huskin's. But all these 
86 



AT "THE LITERARY" 

Kind o' frolics they hain't new 
By a hunderd year* er two 
Cipher on it as you please! 
But I'll tell you what I jest 
Think walks over all the rest — 
Anyway it suits me best, — 
That's 'The Literary." 

First they started it — " 'y gee !" 

Thinks-says-I, "this settle-ment 

'S gittin' too high-toned f er me !'* 

But when all begin to jine. 

And I heerd Izory went, 

I jest kind o' drapped in line. 

Like you've seen some sandy, thin. 

Scrawny shoat putt fer the crick 

Down some pig-trail through the thick 

Spice-bresh, where the whole drove's been 

'Bout six weeks 'fore he gits in! — 

"Can't tell nothin'," I-says-ee, 

" 'Bout it tel you go and see 

Their blame 'Literary'!" 



87 



AT "THE LITEEARY" 

Very first night I was there 
I was 'p'inted to be what 
They call "Critic" — so's a fair 
And square jedgment could be got 
On the pieces 'at was read, 
And on the debate, — "Which air 
Most destructive element, 
Fire er worter?" Then they hed 
Compositions on "Content," 
"Death," and "Botany" ; and Tomps 
He read one on "Dreenin' Swamps" 
I p'nounced the boss, and said, 
"<So fur, 'at's the best thing read 
In yer ^LiteraryM" 

Then they sung some — ^tel I called 

Order, and got back ag'in 

In the critic's cheer, and hauled 

All o' the p'formers in: — 

Mandy Brizendine read one 

I fergit; and Doc's was "Thought"; 

And Sarepty's, hern was "None 

Air Denied 'at Knocks" : and Daut — 



88 



':M3 




AT "THE LITERARY" 

Fayette Strawnse's little niece — » 
She got up and spoke a piece : 
Then Izory she read hern — 
"Best thing in the whole concern/* 
I-says-ee; "now le' 's adjourn 
This-here ^Literary' !" 

They was some contendin' — yit 
We broke up in harmony. 
Road outside as white as grit, 
And as slick as slick could be! — 
I'd fetched 'Zory in my sleigh, — 
And I had a heap to say, 
Drivin' back — in fact, I driv 
'Way around the old north way^ 
Where the Daubenspeckses live. 
'Zory alius — 'fore that night — 
Never 'peared to feel jest right 
In my company. — You see, 
On'y thing on earth saved me 
Was that "Literary"! 



WHAT SMITH KNEW ABOUT FARMING 

THERE wasn't two purtier farms in the state 
Than the couple of which I'm about to relate ; — 
Jinin' each other — belongin' to Brown, 
And jest at the edge of a flourishin' town. 
Brown was a man, as I understand. 
That alius had handled a good 'eal o' land. 
And was sharp as a tack in driyin' a trade — 
For that's the way most of his money was made. 
And all the grounds and the orchards about 
His two pet farms was all tricked out 
With poppies and posies 
And sweet-smellin' rosies; 
And hundreds o' kinds 
Of all sorts o' vines, 
To tickle the most horticultural minds ; 
And little dwarf trees not as thick as your wrist 
With ripe apples on 'em as big as your fist: 
And peaches, — Siberian crabs and pears. 
And quinces — ^Well! any fruit any tree bears; 
And the purtiest stream — jest a-swimmin' with fish. 
And — jest almost everything heart could wish! 

92 



WHAT SMITH KNEW ABOUT FARMING 

The purtiest orchards — ^I wish you could see 
How purty they was, for I know it 'ud be 
A regular treat! — ^but I'll go ahead with 
My story! A man by the name o' Smith — 
(A bad name to rhyme, 
But I reckon that I'm 
Not goin' back on a Smith! nary time!) 
'At hadn't soul of kin nor kith. 
And more money than he knowed what to do with, — 
So he comes a-ridin' along one day, 
And he says to Brown, in his offhand way — 
Who was trainin' some newfangled vines round a bay- 
Winder — "Howdy-do — look-a-here — say: 
What'U you take for this property here ? — 
I'm talkin' o' leavin' the city this year, 
And I want to be 
Where the air is free. 

And I'll buy this place, if it ain't too dear!" — 
Well — they grumbled and jawed aroun' — 
"I don't like to part with the place," says Brown; 
"Well," says Smith, a-jerkin' his head, 
"That house yonder — ^bricks painted red — 
Jest like this'n — a purtier view — 
Who is it owns it?" "That's mine too," - 

93 



WHAT SMITH KNEW ABOUT FARMING 

Says Bro^vn, as he winked at a hole in his shoe, 

''But ril tell you right here jest what I kin do: — 

If you'll pay the hggers I'll sell it to you." 

Smith went over and looked at the place — 

Badgered with Brown, and argied the case — 

Thought that Brown's figgers was rather too tall. 

But, findin' that Brown wasn't goin' to fall. 

In final agreed. 

So they drawed up the deed 

For the farm and the fixtures — ^the live stock an' all. 

And so Smith moved from the city as soon 

As he possibly could — But ''the man in the moon" 

Knowed more'n Smith o' farmnn' pursuits. 

And jest to convince you, and have no disputes, 

How little he knowed, 

I'll tell you his "mode," 

As he called it, o' raisin' "the best that growed," 

In the way o' potatoes — 

Cucumbers — tomatoes, 

And squashes as lengthy as young alligators. 

'Twas alius a curious thing to me " 

How big a fool a feller kin be 

When he gits on a farm after leavin' a town! — 

Expectin' to raise himself up to renown, 

94 



L ^^ 




WHAT SMITH KNEW ABOUT FARMING 

And reap for himself agricultural fame, 
By growin' of squashes — without any shame — 
As useless and long as a technical name. 
To make the soil pure 
And certainly sure, 

He plastered the ground with patent manure. 
He had cultivators, and double-hoss plows, 
And patent machines for milkin' his cows ; 
And patent hay-forks — patent measures and weights, 
And new patent back-action hinges for gates, 
And bam locks and latches, and such little dribs, 
And patents to keep the rats out o' the cribs — 
Reapers and mowers, 
And patent grain sowers; 
And drillers 
And tillers 

And cucumber hillers, 

And harriers ; — and had patent rollers and scrapers, 
And took about ten agricultural papers. 
So you can imagine how matters turned out : 
But Brown didn't have not a shadder o' doubt 
That Smith didn't know what he was about 
When he said that "the old way to farm was played 
out." 

97 



WHAT SMITH KNEW ABOUT FARMING 

But Smith worked ahead, 

And when any one said 

That the old way o' workin' was better instead 

0' his "modem idees," he alius turned red, 

And wanted to know 

What made people so 

Infernally anxious to hear theirselves crow? 

And guessed that he'd manage to hoe his own row. 

Brown he come onc't and leant over the fence. 

And told Smith that he couldn't see any sense 

In goin' to such a tremendous expense 

For the sake o' such no-account experiments : — 

'That'll never make corn! 

As shore's you're bom 

It'll come out the leetlest end of the horn !" 

Says Brown, as he pulled off a big roastin'-ear 

From a stalk of his own 

That had tribble outgi'own 

Smith's poor yaller shoots, and says he, "Looky here ! 

This corn was raised in the old-fashioned way, 

And I rather imagine that this corn'll pay 

Expenses f er raisin' it ! — What do you say ?" 

Brown got him then to look over his crop. — 

His luck that season had been tip-top ! 

98 



WHAT SMITH KNEW ABOUT FARMING 

And you may surmise 

Smith opened his eyes 

And let out a look o' the wildest surprise 

When Brown showed him punkins as big as the lies 

He was stuffin' him with — about offers he'd had 

For his farm: "I don't want to sell very bad," 

He says, but says he, 

"Mr. Smith, you kin see 

For yourself how matters is standin' with me, 

/ understand farmin' and I'd better stay. 

You know, on my farm; — ^I'm a-makin' it pay — 

I oughtn't to grumble ! — ^I reckon I'll clear 

Away over four thousand dollars this year." 

And that was the reason, he made it appear, 

Why he didn't care about sellin' his farm. 

And hinted at his havin' done himself harm 

In sellin' the other, and wanted to know 

If Smith wouldn't sell back ag'in to him. — So 

Smith took the bait, and says he, "Mr. Brown, 

I wouldn't sell out but we might swap aroun' — 

How'll you trade your place for mine?" 

(Purty sharp way o' comin' the shine 

Over Smith! Wasn't it?) Well, sir, this Brown 

Played out his hand and brought Smithy down — 

99 



WHAT SMITH KNEW ABOUT FARMING 

Traded with him an', workin' it cute, 

Raked in two thousand dollars to boot 

As slick as a whistle, an' that wasn't all, — 

He managed to trade back again the next fall, — 

And the next — and the next — as long as Smith 

stayed 
He reaped with his harvests an annual trade. — 
Why, I reckon that Brown must 'a' easily made — 
On an average — nearly two thousand a year — 
Together he made over seven thousand — clear.— 
Till Mr. Smith found he was iosin' his health 
In as big a proportion, almost, as his wealth; 
So at last he concluded to move back to town, 
And sold back his farm to this same Mr. Brown 
At very low figgers, by gittin' it down. 
Further'n this I have nothin' to say 
Than merely advisin' the Smiths fer to stay 
In their grocery stores in flourishin' towns 
And leave agriculture alone — and the Browns. 





"^^' 



KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 

I 

TELL you what I like the best — 
'Long about knee-deep in June, 
'Bout the time strawberries melts 
On the vine, — some afternoon 
Like to jes' git out and rest. 

And not work at nothin' else! 
101 



KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 

II 

Orchard's where I'd ruther be — 
Needn't fence it in fer me! — 

Jes' the whole sky overhead, 
And the whole airth underneath — 
Sorto' so's a man kin breathe 

Like he ort, and kindo' has 
Elbow-room to keerlessly 

Sprawl out len'thways on the grass 
Where the shadders thick and soft 

As the kivvers on the bed 
Mother fixes in the loft 
Alius, when they's company! 

Ill 

Jes' a-sorto' lazin* there — 
S'lazy, 'at you peek and peer 
Through the wavin' leaves above. 
Like a feller 'at's in love 
And don't know it, ner don't keer ! 
Ever'thing you hear and see 
Got some sort o' interest- 
Maybe find a bluebird's nest 

102 




Jh': , 


,.* 



h ' 



KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 

Tucked up there conveenently 

Fer the boy 'at's ap' to be 

Up some other apple-tree! 
Watch the swallers skootin' past 
'Bout as peert as you could ast; 

Er the Bob-white raise and whiz 

Where some other's whistle is. 

IV 

Ketch a shadder down below, 
And look up to find the crow — 
Er a hawk, — away up there, 
Tearantly froze in the air ! — 

Hear the old hen squawk, and squat 

Over ever' chick she's got. 
Sudden t-like ! — and she knows where 

That-air hawk is, well as you! — 

You jes' bet your life she do! — 
Eyes a-glitterin' like glass, 
Waitin' till he makes a pass! 

- V . 

Pee-wees' singin', to express 
My opinion, 's second class, 

105 



KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 

Yit you'll hear 'em more er less; 

Sapsucks o-ittin' down to biz, 
Weedin' out the lonesomeness ; 
Mr. Blue jay, full o' sass. 

In them base-ball clothes o' his, 
Sportin' round the Orchard jes' 
Like he owned the premises! 

Sun out in the fields kin sizz. 
But flat on yer back, I guess. 

In the shade's where glory is! 
That's jes' what I'd like to do 
Stiddy fer a year er two! 

VI 

Plague! ef they ain't somepin' in 
Work 'at kindo' goes ag'in' 
My convictions ! — 'long about 
Here in June especially! — 
Under some old apple-tree, 

Jes' a-restin' through and through, 
I could git along without 

Nothin' else at all to do 
Only jes' a-wishin' you 



106 



KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 

Wuz a-gittin' there like me, 
And June was eternity! 

VII 

Lay out there and try to see 
Jes' how lazy you kin be! — 

Tumble round and souse yer head 
In the clover-bloom, er pull 

Yer straw hat acrost yer eyes 
And peek through it at the skies, 
Thinkin' of old chums 'at's dead. 
Maybe, smilin' back at you 
In betwixt the beautiful 

Clouds o' gold and white and blue. 
Month a man kin railly love — 
June, you know, I'm talkin' of! 

VIII 
March ain't never nothin' new! — 
Aprile's altogether too 

Brash fer me! and May — I jes' 

'Bominate its promises, — 
Little hints o' sunshine and 
Green around the timber-land — 

107 



KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 

A few blossoms, and a few 
Chip-birds, and a sprout er two, — 
Drap asleep, and it turns in 
'Fore daylight and snoivs ag'in! — 
But when Jiine conies — Clear my th'oat 

With wild honey! — Rench my hair 
In the dew! and hold my coat! 

Whoop out loud ! and th'ow my hat !- 

June wants me, and I'm to spare! 

Spread them shadders anywhere, 

I'll git down and waller there. 
And obleeged to you at that! 




^'ip 






r'l-^ 



OLD WINTERS ON THE FARM 

I HAVE jest about decided 
It 'ud keep a town-hoy hoppiri' 
Fer to work all winter, choppin' 
Fer a' old fireplace, like / did ! 
Lawz! them old times wuz contrairy! — 
Blame' backbone o' winter, 'peared-like 
Wouldn't break! — and I wuz skeered-like 
Clean on into Feb'uary! 

Nothin' ever made me madder 
Than fer Pap to stomp in, layin' 
In a' extra forestick, sayin', 

"Groun'-hog's out and seed his shadder V 
109 




OLD OCTOBER 

OLD October's purt' nigh gone, 
And the frosts is comin' on 
Little heavier every day — 
Like our hearts is thataway! 
Leaves is changin' overhead 
Back from green to gray and red, 
Brown and yeller, with their stems 
Loosenin' on the oaks and e'ms; 
And the balance of the trees 
Gittin' balder every breeze — 
Like the heads we're scratchin' on ! 
Old October's purt' nigh gone. 
110 



OLD OCTOBER 

I love Old October so, 
I can't bear to see her go — 
Seems to me like losin' some 
Old-home relative er chum^ 
Tears like sorto' settin' by 
Some old friend 'at sigh by sigh 
Was a-passin' out o' sight 
Into everlastin' night! 
Hickemuts a feller hears 
Rattlin' down is more like tears 
Drappin' on the leaves below — 
I love Old October so! 

Can't tell what it is about 
Old October knocks me out! — 
I sleep well enough at night — 
And the blamedest appetite 
Ever mortal man possessed, — 
Last thing et, it tastes the best!- 
Warnuts, butternuts, pawpaws, 
'lies and limbers up my jaws 
Fer raal service, sich as new 
Pork, spareribs, and sausage, too.- 
Yit, fer all, they's somepin' 'bout 
Old October knocks me out ! 
113 




OLD-FASHIONED ROSES 

THEY ain't no style about 'em, 
And they're sorto' pale and f aded^, 
Yit the doory/ay here, without 'em, 
Would be lonesomer, and shaded 
With a good 'eal blacker shadder 

Than the morning-glories makes. 

And the sunshine would look sadder 

Fer their good old-fashion' sakes. 

I like 'em 'cause they kindo'- 
Sorto' make a feller like 'em! 

And I tell you, when I find a 

Bunch out whur the sun kin strike 'em, 
114 



OLD-FASHIONED EOSES 

It alius sets me thinkin' 

0' the ones 'at used to grow 

And peek in thro' the chinkin' 
0' the cabin, don't you know! 

And then I think o' mother, 

And how she ust to love 'em — 
When they wuzn't any other, 

'Less she found 'em up above 'em! 
And her eyes, afore she shut 'em, 

Whispered with a smile and said 

We must pick a bunch and putt 'em 

In her hand when she wuz dead. 

But, as I wuz a-sayin'. 

They ain't no style about 'em 
Very gaudy er displayin'. 

But I wouldn't be without 'em, — 
'Cause I'm happier in these posies. 

And the hollyhawks and sich, 
Than the hummin'-bird 'at noses 
In the roses of the rich. 




HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 

IVrOBODY on the old farm here but Mother, me 

■^ ^ and John, 

Except, of course, the extry he'p when harvest-time 

comes on, — 
And then, I want to say to you, we needed he'p 

about. 
As you'd admit, ef you'd a-seen the way the crops 
turned out! 

118 



HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 

A better quarter-section ner a richer soil warn't 

found 
Than this-here old home place o^' ourn fer fifty miles 

around! — 
The house was small — ^but plenty-big" we found it 

from the day 
That John — our only livin^ son — ^packed up and went 

away. 

You see, we tuk sich pride in John — ^his mother 

more'n me — 
That's natchurul ; but both of us was proud as proud 

could be ; 
Fer the boy, from a little chap, was most oncommon 

bright. 
And seemed in work as well as play to take the same 

delight. 

He alius went a-whistlin' round the place, as glad at 

heart 
As robins up at five o'clock to git an airly start ; 
And many a time 'fore daylight Mother's waked me 

up to say — 
"Jest listen, David! — listen !— Johnny's beat the 

birds to-day!" 

119 



HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 

High-sperited from boyhood, with a most inquirin' 

turn, — 
He wanted to learn everything on earth they was to 

learn ; 
He'd ast more plaguy questions in a mortal-minute 

here 
Than his grandpap in Paradise could answer in a 

year ! 

And read! w'y, his own mother learnt him how to 
read and spell; 

And "The Childern of the Abbey"— w'y, he knowed 
that book as well 

At fifteen as his parents ! — and "The Pilgrim's Prog- 
ress,'' too — 

Jest knuckled down, the shaver did, and read 'em 
through and through! 

At eighteen. Mother 'lowed the boy must have a 

better chance — 
That we ort to educate him, under any circumstance ; 
And John he j'ined his mother, and they ding-donged 

and kep' on, 
Tel I sent him oif to school in town, half glad that 

he was gone. 

120 



HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 

But — I missed him — w'y, of course I did ! — The Fall 

and Winter through 
I never built the kitchen-fire, er split a stick in two, 
Er fed the stock, er butchered, er swung up a gam- 

brel-pin. 
But what I thought o' John, and wished that he was 

home ag'in. 

He'd come, sometimes — on Sundays most — and stay 

the Sund'y out; 
And on Thanksgivin'-Day he 'peared to like to be 

about : 
But a change was workin' on him — he was stiller 

than before, 
And didn't joke, ner laugh, ner sing and whistle any 

more. 

And his talk was all so proper; and I noticed, with 
a sigh. 

He was tryin' to raise side-whiskers, and had on a 
striped tie. 

And a standin'-collar, ironed up as stiff and slick as 
bone ; 

And a breast-pin, and a watch and chain and plug- 
hat of his own. 

121 



HOW JOHN QUIT THE FAKM 

But when Spring-weather opened out, and John was 

to come home 
And he'p me through the season, I was glad to see 

him come; 
But my happiness, that evening, with the settin' sun 

went down, 
When he bragged of "a position'^ that was offered 

him in town. 

"But,'' says I, "you'll not accept it?'' "W'y, of course 

I will,^' says he. — 
*'This drudgin' on a farm," he says, "is not the life 

fer me; 
I've set my stakes up higher,'' he continued, light 

and gay, 
"And town's the place fer me, and I'm a-goin' right 
away!" 

And go he did! — ^his mother clingin' to him at the 

gate, 
A-pleadin' and a-cryin'; but it hadn't any weight. 
I was tranquiller, and told her 'twarn't no use to 

worry so, 
And onclasped her arms from round his neck round 

mine — and let him go! 
122 



HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 

I felt a little bitter f eelin' fooling round about 

The aidges of my conscience; but I didn't let it 
out; — 

I simply retch out, trimbly-like, and tuk the boy's 
hand, 

And though I didn't say a word, I knowed he'd under- 
stand. 

And — ^well! — sence then the old home here was 

mighty lonesome, shore! 
With me a-workin' in the field and Mother at the 

door. 
Her face ferever to'rds the town, and fadin' more 

and more — 
Her only son nine miles away, a-clerkin' in a store ! 

The weeks and months dragged by us; and some- 
times the boy would write 

A letter to his mother, sayin' that his work was 
light, 

And not to feel oneasy about his health a bit — 

Though his business was confinin', he was gittin' 
used to it. 



125 



HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 

And sometimes he would write and ast how I was 

gittin' on, 
And ef I had to pay out much fer he'p sence he was 

gone; 
And how the hogs was doin', and the balance of the 

stock, 
And talk on fer a page er two jest like he used to 

talk. 

And he wrote, along 'fore harvest, that he guessed 

he would git home, 
Fer business would, of course, be dull in town. — 

But didn't come : — 
We got a postal later, sayin' when they had no trade 
They filled the time "invoicin' goods," and that was 

why he stayed. 

And then he quit a-writin' altogether: Not a word — 
Exceptin' what the neighbers brung who'd been to 

town and heard 
What store John was clerkin' in, and went round to 

inquire 
If they could buy their goods there less and sell 

their produce higher. 
126 



HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 

And so the Summer faded out, and Autumn wore 

away, 
And a keener Winter never fetched around Thanks- 

g-ivin'-Day ! 
The night before that day of thanks I'll never quite 

fergit, 
The wind a-howlin' round the house — it makes me 

creepy yit! 

And there set me and Mother — me a-twistin' at the 

prongs 
Of a green scrub-ellum forestick with a vicious pair 

of tongs, 
And Mother say in', "David! David !'^ in a' undertone. 
As though she thought that I was thinkin' bad-words 

unbeknown. 

"I've dressed the turkey, David, fer to-morrow," 
Mother said, 

A-tryin' to wxdge some pleasant subject in my stub- 
born head, — 

*'And the mince-meat I'm a-mixin^ is perfection 
mighty nigh; 

And the pound-cake is delicious-rich — " "Who'll eat 
'em?" I-says-I. 

127 



HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 

"The cramberries is drippin'-sweet," says Mother, 

runnin' on, 
P'tendin' not to hear me ; — "and somehow I thought 

of John 
All the time they was a-jellin' — fer you know they 

alius was 
His favorite — he likes 'em so I" Says I, "Well, s'pose 

he does?" 

"Oh, no thin' much !" says Mother, with a quiet sort 

o' smile — 
"This gentleman behind my cheer may tell you after 

while!" 
And as I tumt and looked around, some one riz up 

and leant 
And putt his arms round Mother's neck, and laughed 

in low content. , 

"It's me/' he says — "your fool-boy John, come back 

to shake your hand ; 
Set down with you, and talk with you, and make you 

understand 



128 



HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 

How dearer yit than all the world is this old home 

that we 
Will spend Thanksgivin' in fer life — jest, Mother, 

you and me !" 



Nobody on the old farm here but Mother, me and 

John, 
Except, of course, the extry he'p when harvest-time 

comes on; 
And then, I want to say to you, we need sich he'p 

about, 
As you'd admit, ef you could see the way the crops 

turn out ! 





n- 



WORTERMELON TIME 

OLD wortermelon time is a-comin' round again, 
And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n 
me, 
Fer the way I hanker after wortermelons is a sin — 
Which is the why and v/harefore, as you can 
plainly see. 

Oh ! it's in the sandy soil wortermelons does the best. 
And it's thare thej^'ll lay and waller in the sun- 
shine and the dew 
Tel they wear all the green streaks off of theyr 
breast ; 
And you bet I ain't a-findin' any fault with them ; 
air you? 

130 



WORTEEMELON TIME 

They ain't no better thing in the vegetable hne; 
And they don't need much 'tendin', as ev'ry farmer 
knows ; 
And when theyr ripe and ready fer to pluck from 
the vine, 
I want to say to you theyr the best fruit that 
grows. 

It's some likes the yeller-core, and some likes the red. 
And it's some says "The Little Californy" is the 
best ; 
But the sweetest slice of all I ever wedged in my 
head, 
Is the old "Edingburg Mounting-sprout," of the 
west. 

You don't want no punkins nigh your wortermelon 
vines — 
'Cause some-way-another, they'll spile your mel- 
ons, shore; — 
I've seed 'em taste like punkins, from the core to 
the rines, 
Which may be a fact you have heerd of before. 



131 



WORTERMELON TIME 

But your melons that's raised right and 'tended to 

with care, 

You can walk around amongst 'em with a parent's 

pride and joy, 

And thump 'em on the heads with as fatherly a' air 

As ef each of them was your little girl er boy. 

I joy in my hart jest to hear that rippin' sound 
When you split one down the back and jolt the 
halves in two. 
And the friends you love the best is gethered all 
around — 
And you says unto your sweethart, ''Oh, here's 
the core fer you!" 

And I like to slice 'em up in big pieces fer 'em all, 

Espeshally the childern, and watch theyr high 

delight 

As one by one the rines with theyr pink notches falls, 

And they holler fer some more, with unquenched 

appetite. 

Boys takes to it natchurl, and I like to see 'em eat — 
A slice of wortermelon's like a frenchharp in theyr 
hands, 

132 



WORTERMELON TIME 

And when they "saw" it through theyr mouth sich 
music can't be beat — 
'Cause it's music both the sperit and the stummick 
understands. 

Oh, they's more in wortermelons than the purty- 
colored meat, 
And the overflowin' sweetness of the worter 
squshed betwixt 
The up'ard and the dowa'ard motions of a feller's 
teeth, 
And it's the taste of ripe old age and juicy child- 
hood mixed. 

Fer I never taste a melon but my thoughts flies away 
To the summertime of youth ; and again I see the 
dawn 
And the f adin' afternoon of the long summer day, 
And the dusk and dew a-fallin', and the night a- 
comin' on. 

And thare's the corn around us, and the lispin' leaves 
and trees, 
And the stars a-peekin' down on us as still as 
silver mice, 

135 



WORTERMELON TIME 

And us boys in the wortermelons on our hands and 
knees, 
And the new-moon hangin' ore us like a yeller- 
cored slice. 

Oh! it's wortermelon time is a-comin' round again, 
And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n me, 

Fer the way I hanker after wortermelons is a sin — 
Which is the why and wharefore, as you can 
plainly see. 




THE TREE-TOAD 

SCUR'OUS-LIKE," said the tree-toad, 
"IVe twittered fer rain all day; 
And I got up soon, 
And hollered tel noon — 
But the sun, hit blazed away, 

Tel I jest dumb down in a crawfish-hole. 
Weary at hart, and sick at soul ! 
137 



THE TREE-TOAD 

* 'Dozed away fer an hour, 
And I tackled the thing ag'in: 

And I sung, and sung, 

Tel I knowed my lung 
Was jest about give in; 

And then, thinks I, ef hit don't rain now^ 

They's nothin' in singin', anyhow! 

"Onc't in a while some farmer 
Would come a-drivin' past; 

And he'd hear my cry, 

And stop and sigh — 
Tel I jest laid back, at last. 

And I hollered rain tel I thought my th'oat 

Would bust wide open at ever' note ! 

"But I fetched her!— I fetched her !— 
'Cause a little while ago. 

As I kindo' set. 

With one eye shet. 
And a-singin' soft and low, 

A voice drapped down on my fevered brain, 

A-sayin', — 'Ef you'll jest hush I'll rain!' " 




A COUNTRY PATHWAY 

I COME upon it suddenly, alone — 
A little pathway winding in the weeds 
That fringe the roadside; and with dreams my own, 
I wander as it leads. 

Full wistfully along the slender way. 

Through summer tan of freckled shade and shine, 
I take the path that leads me as it may — 

Its every choice is mine. 

A chipmunk, or a sudden-whirring quail. 
Is startled by my step as on I fare — 

A garter-snake across the dusty trail 
Glances and — is not there. 
141 



A COUNTRY PATHWAY ; 

Above the arching jimson-weeds flare twos 
And twos of sallow-yellow butterflies, 

Like blooms of lorn primrose blowing loose 
When autumn winds arise. 

The trail dips — dwindles — broadens then, and lifts 

Itself astride a cross-road dubiously. 
And, from the fennel marge beyond it, drifts 

Still onward, beckoning me. 

And though it needs must lure me mile on mile 

Out of the public highway, still I go. 
My thoughts, far in advance in Indian-file, 

Allure me even so. 

Why, I am as a long-lost boy that went 
At dusk to bring the cattle to the bars. 

And was not found again, though Heaven lent 
His mother all the stars 

With which to seek him through that awful night. 

years of nights as vain ! — Stars never rise 
But well might miss their glitter in the light 

Of tears in mother-eyes! 
142 



A COUNTRY PATHWAY 

So — on, with quickened breaths, I follow still — 
My avant-courier must be obeyed! 

Thus am I led, and thus the path, at will. 
Invites me to invade 

A meadow's precincts, where my daring guide 
Clambers the steps of an old-fashioned stile, 

And stumbles down again, the other side, 
To gambol there a while 

In pranks of hide-and-seek, as on ahead 
I see it running, while the clover-stalks 

Shake rosy fists at me, as though they said — 
"You dog our country-walks 

"And mutilate us with your walking-stick! — 
We will not suffer tamely what you do, 

And warn you at your peril, — for we'll sic 
Our bumblesbees on you!" 

But I smile back, in airy nonchalance, — 

The more determined on my wayward quest. 

As some bright memory a moment dawns 
A morning in my breast — 
145 



A COUNTRY PATHWAY 

Sending a thrill that hurries me along 
In faulty similes of childish skips, 

Enthused with lithe contortions of a song 
Performing on my lips. 

In wild meanderings o'er pasture wealth — 
Erratic wanderings through dead'ning-lands, 

Where sly old brambles, plucking me by stealth. 
Put berries in my hands: 

Or the path climbs a bowlder — wades a slough — 
Or, rollicking through buttercups and flags, 

Goes gayly dancing o'er a deep bayou 
On old tree-trunks and snags: 

Or, at the creek, leads o'er a limpid pool 
Upon a bridge the stream itself has made, 

With some Spring-freshet for the mighty tool 
That its foundation laid. 

I pause a moment here to bend and muse. 
With dreamy eyes, on my reflection, where 

A boat-backed bug drifts on a helpless cruise. 
Or wildly oars the air, 
146 



A COUNTRY PATHWAY 

As, dimly seen, the pirate of the brook — 

The pike, whose jaunty hulk denotes his speed — 

Swing's pivoting- about, with wary look 
Of low and cunning greed. 

Till, filled with other thought, I turn again 
To where the pathway enters in a realm 

Of lordly woodland, under sovereign reign 
Of towering oak and elm. 

A puritanic quiet here reviles 

The almost whispered warble from the hedge, 
And takes a locust's rasping voice and files 

The silence to an edge. 

In such a solitude my sombre way 

Strays like a misanthrope within a gloom 

Of his own shadows — till the perfect day 
Bursts into sudden bloom, 

And crowns a long-, declining stretch of space. 
Where King Corn's armies lie with flags unfurled, 

And where the valley's dint in Nature's face 
Dimples a smiling world. 
147 



A COUNTRY PATHWAY 

And lo ! through mists that may not be dispelled, 
I see an old farm homestead, as in dreams, 

Where, like a gem in costly setting held, 
The old log cabin gleams. 



O darling Pathway! lead me bravely on 
Adown your valley-way, and run before 

Among the roses crowding up the lawn 
And thronging at the door, — 

And carry up the echo there that shall 
Arouse the drowsy dog, that he may bay 

The household out to greet the prodigal 
That wanders home to-day. 







WHEN EARLY MARCH SEEMS MIDDLE 

MAY 

WHEN country roads begin to thaw 
In mottled spots of damp and dust, 
And fences by the margin draw 

Along the frosty crust 
Their graphic silhouettes, I say. 
The Spring is coming round this way. 
149 



WHEN EARLY MARCH SEEMS MIDDLE MAY 

When morning-time is bright with sun 
And keen with wind, and both confuse 

The dancing, glancing eyes of one 
With tears that ooze and ooze — 

And nose-tips weep as well as they, 

The Spring is coming round this way. 

When suddenly some shadow-bird 
Goes wavering beneath the gaze. 

And through the hedge the moan is heard 
Of kine that fain would graze 

In grasses new, I smile and say, 

The Spring is coming round this way. 

When knotted horse-tails are untied. 
And teamsters whistle here and there. 

And clumsy mitts are laid aside 
And choppers' hands are bare. 

And chips are thick where children play, 

The Spring is coming round this way. 

When through the twigs the farmer tramps. 
And troughs are chunked beneath the trees^ 

And fragrant hints of sugar-camps 
Astray in everj^ breeze, — 
150 



WHEN EARLY MARCH SEEMS MIDDLE MAY 

When early March seems middle May, 
The Spring is coming round this way. 

When coughs are changed to laughs, and when 
Our frowns melt into smiles of glee, 

And all our blood thaws out again 
In streams of ecstasy. 

And poets wreak their roundelay, 

The Spring is coming round this way. 



<'^^ 





A TALE OF THE AIRLY DAYS 

OH ! tell me a tale of the airly days — 
Of the times as they ust to be ; 
"Filler of Fi-er" and "Shakespeare's Plays" 

Is a' most too deep fer me! 
I want plane facts, and I want plane words, 

Of the good old-fashioned ways, 
When speech run free as the songs of birds 
'Way back in the airly days. 
152 











f °^**«. 
*'"^^-., 



A TALE OF THE AIRLY DAYS 

Tell me a tale of the timber-lands — 

Of the old-time pioneers; 
Somepin' a pore man understands 

With his feelin's 's well as ears. 
Tell of the old log house,^ — about 

The loft, and the puncheon flore — 
The old fi-er place, with the crane swung out, 

And the latch-string through the door. 

Tell of the things jest as they was — 

They don't need no excuse! — 
Don't tech 'em up like the poets does, 

Tel theyr all too fine f er use ! — 
Say they was 'leven in the f ambily — 

Two beds, and the chist, below. 
And the trundle-beds that each helt three, 

And the clock and the old bureau. 

Then blow the horn at the old back-door 

Tel the echoes all halloo. 
And the childern gethers home onc't more, 

Jest as they ust to do : 



155 



A TALE OF THE AIRLY DAYS 

Blow fer Pap tel he hears and comes, 

With Tomps and Elias, too, 
A-marchin' home, with the fife and drums 

And the old Red White and Blue! 

Blow and blow tel the sound draps low 

As the moan of the whipperwill. 
And wake up Mother, and Ruth and Jo, 

All sleepin' at Bethel Hill: 
Blow and call tel the faces all 

Shine out in the back-log's blaze, 
And the shadders dance on the old hewed wall 

As they did in the airly days. 





A VOICE FROM THE FARM 

IT IS my dream to have you here with me, 
Out of the heated city's dust and din — 
Here where the colts have room to gambol in, 
And kine to graze, in clover to the knee. 
I want to see your wan face happily 

Lit with the wholesome smiles that have not been 
In use since the old games you used to win 
When we pitched horseshoes: And I want to be 
At utter loaf with you in this dim land 

Of grove and meadow, while the crickets make 
Our own talk tedious, and the bat wields 
His bulky flight, as we cease converse and 
In a dusk like velvet smoothly take 

Our way toward home across the dewy fields. 
157 




ROMANCIN' 

I*) B'EN a-kindo' "musin'," as the feller says, 
and I'm 
About o' the conclusion that they hain't no 
better time, 
When you come to cipher on it, than the times we 

ust to know 
When we swore our first "clog -gone-it" sorto' solum- 
like and low! 

You git my idy, do you? — Little tads, you under- 
stand — 

Jest a-wishin' thue and thue you that you on'y wuz a 
man. — 

Yit here I am, this minit, even sixty, to a day, 

And fergittin' all that's in it, wishin' jest the other 



way! 



158 



ROMANCIN' 

I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er dimon- 

strate 
Whare the trouble is, er hector and domineer with 

Fate, — 
But when I git so flurried, and so pestered-like and 

blue, 
And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what 

I do!— 

I jest gee-haw the bosses, and onhook the swingle- 
tree, 
Whare the hazel-bushes tosses down theyr shadders 

over me ; 
And I draw my plug o' navy, and I climb the fence, 

and set 
Jest a-thinkin' here, i gravy ! tel my eyes is wringin'- 
wet! 

Tho' I still kin see the trouble o' the presunf, I kin 

see — 
Kindo' like my sight wuz double — all the things that 

list to be ; 
And the flutter o' the robin and the teeter o' the wren 
Sets the wilier-branches bobbin' *'howdy-do" thum 

Now to Then! 

159 



ROMANCIN' 

The deadnin' and the thicket's jest a-b'ilin' full of 

June, 
From the rattle o' the cricket, to the yallar-hammer's 

tune ; 
And the catbird in the bottom, and the sapsuck on 

the snag, 
Seems ef they can't — od-rot 'em! — jest do nothin' 
else but brag! 

They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the 

jay. 
And that sassy little critter jest a-peckin' all the 

day ; 
They's music in the "flicker," and they's music in 

the thrush. 
And they's music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in 

the brush! 

They's music cdl around me! — And I go back, in a 

dream 
Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep, — and in 

the stream 
That ust to split the medder whare the dandylions 

growed, 
I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down 

the road. 

160 



ROMANCIN' 

Then's when I' b'en a-fishin'! — And they's other 

fellers, too, 
With theyr hick'ry-poles a-swishin' out behind 'em ; 

and a few 
Little "shiners" on our stringers, with theyr tails tip- 

toein' bloom, 
As we dance 'em in our fingers all the happy jurney 

home. 

I kin see us, true to Natur', thum the time we started 
out. 

With a biscuit and a 'tater in our little "round- 
about"!— 

I kin see our lines a-tanglin', and our elbows in a jam. 

And our naked legs a-danglin' thum the apern o' 
the dam. 

I kin see the honeysuckle climbin' up around the mill. 
And kin hear the worter chuckle, and the wheel a- 

growlin' still; 
And thum the bank below it I kin steal the old canoe, 
And jest git in and row it like the miller ust to do. 



163 



EOMANCIN' 

W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortul 

plane 
I kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the 

lane; 
And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n 

"Money-musk" 
Fer the lightnin' bugs a-blinkin' and a-dancin' in the 

dusk. 

And when I've kep' on ''musinV' as the feller says, 

tel I'm 
Firm-fixed in the conclusion that they hain't no 

better time, 
When you come to cipher on it, than the old times, — 

I de-clare 
I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it!" jest as soft as any 

prayer ! 





UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 

UP and down old Brandywine, 
In the days 'at's past and gone — 
With a dad-burn hook-and-Hne 
And a saplin' pole — i swawn! 

I've had more fun, to the square 
Inch, than ever anywhere ! 
Heaven to come can't discount mine 
Up and down old Brandywine! 
165 



UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 

Hain't no sense in wishin' — ^yit 

Wisht to goodness I could jes 
"Gee" the blame' world round and git 
Back to that old happiness! — 
Kindo' drive back in the shade 
"The old Covered Bridge" there laid 
'Crosst the crick, and sorto' soak 
My soul over, hub and spoke! 

Honest, now! — it hain't no dream 
'At I'm wantin', — but the fac's 
As they wuz; the same old stream. 
And the same old times, i jacks! — 
Gim me back my bare feet — and 
Stonebruise too ! — And scratched and tanned ! 
And let hottest dog-days shine 
Up and down old Brandywine! 

In and on betwixt the trees 

'Long the banks, pour down yer noon, 

Kindo' curdled with the breeze 
And the yallerhammer's tune; 



166 



UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 

And the smokin', chokin' dust 
0' the turnpike at its wusst — 
Satiird/ys, say, when it seems 
Road's jes jammed with country teams !- 

Whilse the old town, fur away 

'Crosst the hazy pastur'-land, 
Dozed-hke in the heat o' day 
Peaceful' as a hired hand. 

Jolt the gravel through the floor 
0' the old bridge! — grind and roar 
With yer blame percession-line — 
Up and down old Brandywine! 

Souse me and my new straw-hat 

Off the foot-log ! — what / care ? — 
Fist shoved in the crown o' that — 
Like the old Clown ust to wear. 
Wouldn't swop it fer a' old 
Gin-u-wine raal crown o' gold! — 
Keep yer King ef you'll gim me 
Jes the boy I ust to be! 



169 



UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 

Spill my fishin'- worms ! er steal 

My best "goggle-eye!" — but you 
Can't lay hands on joys I feel 
Nibblin' like they ust to do ! 
So, in memory, to-day 
Same old ripple lips away 
At my "cork" and saggin' line, 
Up and down old Brandywine ! 

There the logs is, round the hill, 
Where "Old Irvin" ust to lift 
Out sunfish from daylight till 

Dewfall— 'fore he'd leave "The Drift" 
And give ms a chance — and then 
Kindo' fish back home again, 
Ketchin' 'em jes left and right 
Where we hadn't got a "bite !" 

Er, 'way windin' out and in, — 

Old path th'ough the iurnweeds 

And dog-fennel to yer chin — 

Then come suddent, th'ough the reeds 



170 



UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 

And cat-tails, smack into where 
Them-air woods-hogs ust to scare 
Us clean 'crosst the County-line, 
Up and down old Brandy wine! 

But the dim roar o' the dam 

It 'ud coax us furder still 
To'rds the old race, slow and ca'm, 
Slidin' on to Huston's mill — 

Where, I 'spect, *'The Freeport crowd" 
Never warmed to us er 'lowed 
We wuz quite so overly 
Welcome as we aimed to be. 

Still it 'peared-like everything — 

Fur away from home as there — 
Had more reHsWike, i jing! — 
Fish in stream, er bird in air! 
them rich old bottom-lands, 
Past where Cowden's Schoolhouse stands! 
Wortermelons — master-mine! 
Up and down old Brandywine ! 



171 



UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 

And sich pop-paws! — Lumps o' raw 

Gold and green, — jes oozy th'ough 
With ripe yaller — like you've saw 
Custard-pie with no crust to: 
And jes gorges o* wild plums, 
Till a feller'd suck his thumbs 
Clean up to his elbows! My! — 
Me some more er lem me die! 

Up and down old Brandywine! . . . 

Stripe me with pokeberry- juice! — 
Flick me with a pizenvine 

And yell "Yip!'* and lem me loose! 
— Old now as I then wuz young-, 
'F I could sing as I have sung. 
Song 'ud surely ring dee-vine 
Up and down old Brandywine ! 



fV^ 



m 




SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 

I HAIN'T no hand at tellin' tales, 
Er spinnin' yarns, as the sailors say ; 
Someway o' 'nother, language fails 
To slide f er me in the oily way 
That latvyers has ; and I wisht it would, 
Fer I've got somepin' that I call good ; 
But bein' only a country squire, 
I've learned to listen and admire, 
Ruther preferrin' to be addressed 
Than talk myse'f — but I'll do my best: — 
173 



SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 

Old Jeff Thompson — well, I'll say, 

Was the clos'test man I ever saw !— 

Rich as cream, but the porest pay, 

And the meanest man to work fer — La! 

I've knowed that man to work one "hand" — 

Fer little er nothin', you understand — 

From four o'clock in the morning light 

Tel eight and nine o'clock at night, 

And then find fault with his appetite! 

He'd drive all over the neighberhood 

To miss the place where a toll-gate stood. 

And slip in town, by some old road 

That no two men in the county knowed. 

With a jag o' wood, and a sack o' wheat. 

That wouldn't burn and you couldn't eat ! 

And the trades he'd make, '11 I jest de-clare. 

Was enough to make a preacher swear! 

And then he'd hitch, and hang about 

Tel the lights in the toll-gate was blowed out, 

And then the turnpike he'd turn in 

And sneak his way back home ag'in! 

Some folks hint, and I make no doubt. 
That that's what wore his old wife out — 

174 



SQUIEE HAWKINS'S STORY 

Toilin' away from day to day 

And year to year, through heat and cold, 

Uncomplainin' — the same old way 

The martyrs died in the days of old; 

And a-clingin', too, as the martyrs done, 

To one fixed faith, and her only one, — 

Little Patience, the sweetest child 

That ever wept unrickonciled, 

Er felt the pain and the ache and sting 

That only a mother's death can bring. 

Patience Thompson ! — I think that name 

Must 'a' come from a power above, 

Fer it seemed to fit her jest the same 

As a gaiter would, er a fine kid glove ! 

And to see that girl, with all the care 

Of the household on her — ^I de-clare 

It was oudacioiis, the work she'd do. 

And the thousand plans that she'd putt through ; 

And sing like a medder-lark all day long, 

And drownd her cares in the joys o' song; 

And laugh sometimes tel the farmer's "hand," 

Away fur off in the fields, would stand 

A-listenin', with the plow half drawn, 

Tel the coaxin' echoes called him on; 

175 



SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 

And the furries seemed, in his dreamy eyes, 
Like foot-paths a-leadin' to Paradise, 
As off through the hazy atmosphere 
The call f er dinner reached his ear. 

Now love's as cunnin' a little thing 

As a hummin'-bird upon the wing, 

And as liable to poke his nose 

Jest where folks would least suppose, — 

And more'n likely build his nest 

Right in the heart you'd leave unguessed. 

And live and thrive at your expense — 

At least, that's my experience. 

And old Jeff Thompson often thought, 

In his se'fish way, that the quiet John 

Was a stiddy chap, as a farm-hand ought 

To always be, — f er the airliest dawn 

Found John busy — and ''easy/' too. 

Whenever his wages would fall due ! — 

To sum him up with a final touch, 

He eat so little and worked so much, 

That old Jeff laughed to hisse'f and said 

''He makes me money and aims his bread !" 



176 



SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 

But John, fer all of his quietude, 
Would sometimes drap a word er so 
That none but Patience understood. 
And none but her was meant to know ! — 
Maybe at meal-times John would say. 
As the sugar-bowl come down his way, 
"Thanky, no; my coffee's sweet 
Enough fer me!'^ with sich conceit, 
She'd know at once, without no doubt, 
He meant because she poured it out ; 
And smile and blush, and all sich stuff. 
And ast ef it was "strong enough?" 
And git the answer, neat and trim, 
'*It couldn't be too 'strong' fer him!'' 

And so things went fer 'bout a year, 

Tel John, at last, found pluck to go 

And pour his tale in the old man's ear — 

And ef it had been hot lead, I know 

It couldn't 'a' raised a louder fuss, 

Ner 'a' riled the old man's temper wuss! 

He jest lit in, and cussed and swore, 

And lunged and rared, and ripped and tore, 



179 



SQUIEE HAWKINS'S STORY 

And told John jest to leave his door. 
And not to darken it no more! 
But Patience ""^'-^d, with eyes all wet, 
''Remember, John, and don't ferget. 
Whatever comes, I love you yet!'' 
But the old man thought, in his se'fish way, 
"I'll see her married rich some day ; 
And that," thinks he, "is money fer me — 
And my will's laiv, as it ought to be!" 
So when, in the course of a month er so, 
A widower, with a farm er two. 
Comes to Jeff's, w'y, the folks, you know 
Had to talk — as the f olks'll do : 
It was the talk of the neighberhood — 
Patience and John, and their affairs ; — 
And this old chap with a few gray hairs 
Had "cut John out," it was understood. 
And some folks reckoned "Patience, too, 
Knowed what she was a-goin' to do — 
It was like her — la! indeed! — 
All she loved was dollars and cents — 
Like old Jeff — and they saw no need 
Fer John to pine at her negligence!" 
But others said, in a kinder way, 
They missed the songs she used to sing — 
They missed the smiles that used to play 
180 



SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 

Over her face, and the laughin' ring 
Of her glad voice — that p,vpryt]img 
Of her old se'f seemed dead and gone, 
And this was the ghost that they gazed on ! 

Tel finally it was noised about 
There was a weddin' soon to be 
Down at Jeff's; and the ''cat was out" 
Shore enough ! — 'LI the Jee-mim-nee! 
It riled me when John told me so, — 
Fer / was a friend o' John's, you know; 
And his trimblin' voice jest broke in two- — 
As a feller's voice'll sometimes do. — 
And I says, says I, *'Ef I know my biz — 
And I think I know what jestice is, — • 
I've read some law— and I'd advise 
A man like you to wipe his eyes 
And square his jaws and start ag'in, 
Fer jestice is a-goin' to ivin!" 
And it wasn't long tel his eyes had cleared 
As blue as the skies, and the sun appeared 
In the shape of a good old-fashioned smile 
That I hadn't seen fer a long, long while. 



181 



SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 

So we talked on f er a' hour er more, 

And sunned ourselves in the open door, — 

Tel a hoss-and-buggy down the road 

Come a-drivin' up, that I guess John knowed, — 

Fer he winked and says, "I'll dessappear — 

They'd smell a mice ef they saw me here V* 

And he thumbed his nose at the old gray mare. 

And hid hisse'f in the house somewhere. 

Well. — The rig drove up: and I raised my head 

As old Jeff hollered to me and said 

That ''him and his old friend there had come 

To see ef the squire was at home." 

... I told 'em "I was ; and I aimed to be 

At every chance of a weddin'-fee !" 

And then I laughed — and they laughed, too, — 

Fer that was the object they had in view. 

"Would I be on hands at eight that night ?" 

They ast; and 's-I, "You're mighty right, 

ril be on hand !" And then I bu'st 

Out a-laughin' my very wu'st, — 

And so did they, as they wheeled away 

And drove to'rds town in a cloud o' dust. 

Then I shet the door, and me and John 

Laughed and laughed, and jest laughed on, 

182 



SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 

Tel Mother drapped her specs, and by 
Jeewhillikers! I thought she'd die! — • 
And she couldn't 'a' told, I'll bet my hat, 
What on earth she was laughin' at! 

But all o' the fun o' the tale hain't done ! — • 

Fer a drizzlin' rain had jest begun, 

And a-havin' 'bout four mile' to ride, 

I jest concluded I'd better light 

Out fer Jeff's and save my hide, — 

Fer it was a-goin^ to storm, that night! 

So we went down to the barn, and John 

Saddled my beast, and I got on ; 

And he told me somepin' to not ferget. 

And when I left, he was laughin' yet. 

And, 'proachin' on to my journey's end. 
The great big draps o' the rain come down. 
And the thunder growled in a way to lend 
An awful look to the lowerin' frown 
The dull sky wore ; and the lightnin' glanced 
Tel my old mare jest more'n pranced. 
And tossed her head, and bugged her eyes 
To about four times their natchurl size, 

183 



SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 

As the big black lips of the clouds 'ud drap 
Out some oath of a thunderclap, 
And threaten on in an undertone 
That chilled a feller clean to the bone! 

But I struck shelter soon enough 

To save niyse'f. And the house was jammed 

With the women-folks, and the weddin'-stuff :- 

A great, long table, fairly crammed 

With big pound-cakes — and chops and steaks- 

And roasts and stews — ^^and stumick-aches 

Of every fashion, form, and size. 

From twisters up to punkin-pies ! 

And candies, oranges, and figs, 

And reezins, — all the "whilligigs" 

And ''jim-cracks" that the law allows 

On sich occasions! — Bobs and bows 

Of gigglin' girls, with corkscrew curls, 

And fancy ribbons, reds and blues. 

And ''beau-ketchers" and "curliques" 

To beat the world ! And seven o'clock 

Brought old Jeff; — and brought — the groom,- 

With a sideboard-collar on, and stock 

That choked him so, he hadn't room 

184 



SQUIEE HAWKINS'S STORY 

To swaller in, er even sneeze, 
Er clear his th'oat with any ease 
Er comfort — and a good square cough 
Would saw his Adam's apple off! 

But as fer Patience — My! Oomh-oomh!— 
I never saw her look so sweet! — 
Her face was cream and roses, too; 
And then them eyes o' heavenly blue 
Jest made an angel all complete! 
And when she split 'em up in smiles 
And splintered 'em around the room, 
And danced acrost and met the groom. 
And laughed out loud — It kind o' spiles 
My language when I come to that — 
Fer, as she laid away his hat. 
Thinks I, ^'The papers hid inside 
Of that said hat must make a bride 
A happy one fer all her life, 
Er else a wrecked and wretched wife!" 
And, someway, then, I thought of John,- 
Then looked towards Pai^ietice . . . She 
was gone! 



187 



SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 

The door stood open, and the rain 

Was dashin' in ; and sharp and plain 

Above the storm we heerd a cry — 

A ringin', laughin', loud ''Good-by!'' 

That died away, as fleet and fast 

A boss's hoofs went splashin' past! 

And that was all. 'Twas done that quick! . 

You heerd o^ fellers ''lookin' sick"? 

I wisht you'd seen the groom jest then — 

I wisht you'd seen them two old men, 

With starin* eyes that fairly glared 

At one another, and the scared 

And empty faces of the crowd, — 

I wisht you could 'a' been allowed 

To jest look on and see it all, — 

And heerd the girls and women bawl 

And wring their hands ; and heerd old Jeflt 

A-cussin' as he swung hisse'f 

Upon his boss, who champed his bit 

As though old Nick had holt of it: 

And cheek by jowl the two old wrecks 

Rode off as though they'd break their necks. 



188 



SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 

And as we all stood starin' out 

Into the night, I felt the brush 

Of some one's hand, and turned about, 

And I heerd a voice that whispered, "Hushl- 

They're waitin' in the kitchen, and 

You're tvanted. Don't you understand?" 

Well, ef my memory serves me now, 

I think I winked. — Well, anyhow, 

I left the crowd a-gawkin' there. 

And jest slipped off around to where 

The back door opened, and went in, 

And turned and shet the door ag'in, 

And maybe locked it — couldn't swear, — 

A woman's arms around me makes 

Me liable to make mistakes. — 

I read a marriage license nex', 

But as I didn't have my specs 

I jest inferred it was all right. 

And tied the knot so mortal-tight 

That Patience and my old friend John 

Was safe enough from that time on! 



189 



SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 

Well, now, I might go on and tell 
How all the joke at last leaked out. 
And how the youngsters raised the yell 
And rode the happy groom about 
Upon their shoulders ; how the bride 
Was kissed a hundred times beside 
The one / give her, — tel she cried 
And laughed untel she like to died! 
I might go on and tell you all 
About the supper — and the ball. — 
You'd ought to see me twist my heel 
Through jest one old Furginny reel 
Afore you die! er tromp the strings 
Of some old fiddle tel she sings 
Some old cowtillion, don't you know, 
That putts the devil in yer toe! 

We kep' the dancin' up tel four 
O'clock, I reckon — maybe more. — 
We hardly heerd the thunders roar, 
Er thought about the storm that blowed — 
And them two fellers on the road! 
Tel all at onc't we heerd the door 
Bu'st open, and a voice that swore, — 
And old Jeff Thompson tuck the floor. 
190 



SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY 

He shuck hisse'f and looked around 
Like some old dog about half-drowned — 
His hat, I reckon, weighed ten pound 
To say the least, and I'll say, shore, 
His overcoat weighed fifty more — 
The wettest man you ever saw. 
To have so dry a son-in-law! 

He sized it all; and Patience laid 
Her hand in John's, and looked afraid, 
And waited. And a stiller set 
0' folks, I know, you never met 
In any court room, where with dread 
They wait to hear a verdick read. 

The old man turned his eyes on me: 
"And have you married 'em?" says he. 
I nodded "Yes." "Well, that'll do," 
He says, "and now we're th'ough with you,- 
You jest clear out, and I decide 
And promise to be satisfied!" 
He hadn't nothin' more to say. 
I saw, of course, how matters lay, 
And left. But as I rode away 
I heerd the roosters crow fer day. 
191 



